


From One Who Was There

by veronicaluv



Category: Spartacus Series (TV), Spartacus: Vengeance
Genre: M/M, POV Original Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-06
Updated: 2014-01-06
Packaged: 2018-01-07 15:44:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1121646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veronicaluv/pseuds/veronicaluv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She watches from the shadows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	From One Who Was There

I am old and slow, and no one sees me.

Yet I see everything.

I did not much care when the rebels overran the villa of my dominus. Whether he'd been a good master or not I could not tell, so long had I lived behind those walls. These large, loud men who saw to his messy death and took over the villa thought to spread freedom, whatever that was, and gave us all choice--follow their quest, stay behind (to be slaughtered by avenging Romans, no doubt), or venture forth unprotected into a world we did not know.

Most, including myself, chose to follow these sweaty, smelly rebels, these large, loud men who danced in the courtyard with their cocks on display, drinking wine I myself had put away for a cold night. For my part, I believed they were the best hope for survival, an opinion gained as I watched them methodically ransack the villa for everything they could carry. Theirs was a practical sort of freedom, therefore I knew my best hope to stay alive was to serve them as I had served my dominus.

And helping them in this thievery? Tiberius, efficient as ever when not playing at swords with the one they called Spartacus. I knew--we all did, we who had once made the meals and swept the halls and washed the linens--that he'd actually tried to kill the rebel leader, but had gained reprieve. That they had not parted Tiberius' pretty head from slender shoulders on the spot was a surprise to me--the fact that attempt had been made was no surprise at all.

I remember when Tiberius was brought to the villa, he and his older brother, both of them all eyes and hair and thin, brown limbs. Nasir he was then and Nasir he is now, but my domina renamed her new pet Tiberius the day they sent his less comely brother away in a cart, never to be heard of again. I was body slave to her then, and watched from afar as the boy grew into such beauty that few who saw him did not covet him, something our dominus knew and exploited.

Oh, yes, I knew Nasir would fight for his place in this new world, though not even I suspected attempt of blade stuck in an unwary back. He'd fought for position every day of his short life, whether to find prominence in the villa or to avoid the numerous blows and bruises we all received every day in exchange for our lives. We knew each other well, this pretty boy and I, and that is the real reason I pledged my fate to the rebels--because Nasir, with the blood of a Roman soldier on his hands, had done so before me when he saved the life of Spartacus.

We never spoke of it--we hardly ever spoke at all, at least in words. Nasir and I shared a language borne of gestures and glances, honed over the years with small kindnesses. When he was a boy, I slipped him sweets from abandoned plates, his nimble fingers plucking the stolen gift from my hand, his wide, solemn gaze upon my face. As the boy grew to manhood, sweets were replaced by slices of untainted meat, small vials of fragrant oil, anything I could find that would bring a smile to his face. In return, he offered me protection against prettier, younger house slaves who saw my ugly face and taunted me for it, their cruel words gaining teeth and claws when my domina died.

I was sent to the kitchens then and there I remained, growing old and and fat and finally gaining some respect for my endurance, if nothing else. Often when the dominus did not demand his company, Nasir would sit by my fire and let me brush his hair as he stared into the flames, lost in some world where the collar around his neck did not exist and bondage was just a word, not the reality of his days and the burden of his future.

Now the collars were gone and we were off to only the gods knew where, and my boy--Nasir once more, and forever--had gained not only his freedom, but the attention of one of the rebels. 

It was Chadara who told me, Chadara who was always one for gossip. I did not believe her, as she tended to view all circumstances with an eye toward elevating position. But soon enough, I saw for myself the shy, searching looks Nasir shared with the big gladiator. Why this barbarian, I have no idea. Oh, he was fair enough, this Agron with his green eyes and winning smile--well, a smile he shared when he wasn't glaring at the one they called Crixus. Nasir had never favored anyone in the villa, but something about this big man called to him, despite obvious reasoning that the gladiator only saw what so many before him had seen, a beautiful face and body to be used and discarded. If Nasir shared his body with Agron, it would be by his choice--the gods know there was more fucking than revolution going on in those early days. Yet more than once I saw Agron and Nasir engaged in quiet conversation whilst we were still at the villa, though as far as I could tell they did not couple, and all speculation seemed to be for naught when Nasir chose to go to the mines and Agron to Vesuvius. I ached to think I'd seen the last of Nasir that day, but my opinion of the mission to save Crixus' woman aligned with that of Agron.

But, oh, when Agron carried my boy into the camp we'd made in the woods near the mountain, his torn body cradled so tenderly, that's when I knew. The haunted expression in Agron's eyes as he watched the medicus examine the wound, his big hands wrapped around Nasir's slender fingers--no, it was not just Nasir's body that had captured the gladiator.

Later, as I worked with others to fashion a sling to carry Nasir forward, I kept my gaze on Agron. So many had left for the mines and so few returned, the brooding Gaul apparently lost to the cause that had driven him, that I wondered if my brief taste of freedom was soon to choke on Roman steel. Though he spoke urgent words with Spartacus and his woman, Mira, Agron's attention remained fixed upon Nasir, and once we were on the move, he stayed close, his jaw set as if by his will alone, Nasir would live.

Even once we were ensconced in the temple, it was a close thing. Nasir was well-tended by Naevia but I hovered nearby in case he awoke and searched out a friendly face. I am old and slow and no one sees me, and so I heard the conversation between Naevia and Agron, saw the devastation on his face when confronted by his failure to convince Spartacus to leave her to the mines. He knew that had he done so, Nasir would be whole and well and maybe even in his bed. Her words were unfair, but no less hurtful, and my old heart ached for the young gladiator.

I also listened to the muttered conversations Agron held with himself whilst Nasir slept his way to health, during the long nights when Agron guarded that sleep alone. Some words I did not understand, as the gladiator occasionally slipped into his native tongue, but the expression in his eyes required no translation. I knew nothing of his story, how he came to fight on the sands of the arena, but there was sorrow in his voice, and great loss. I softened toward the gladiator during those dark hours, rejoicing with him from my dank, black corner when Nasir finally awoke and reached for him, whispering his name.

Nasir, of course, stubborn young fool that he is, rose too soon from his bed when he learned of plan to return to the arena--surely the gods were laughing at such folly!--and attempted to join them in their quest. I'd trailed behind him as he made his way to the temple steps, prepared to steady him if he faltered but falling back behind a stone pillar when he joined the others.

I needn't have worried. His bravery and loyalty had made him well-regarded amongst the others, and as Spartacus gently rebuffed Nasir's offer to take up sword--bah, as if he could lift a kitten, so newly was he healed--I looked over at Agron, Agron whose eyes were bright, who approached Nasir and placed loving hand against his cheek. If the nights spent observing Agron keep watch at Nasir's side had not convinced me that he treasured Nasir above all else, quiet words and the tender kiss that followed made it very clear. My boy was loved--but did he love in return?

Ever one to keep thought to himself, Nasir made no outward show of his feelings, so I was unsure. Once more I waited, we all did, for the return of Spartacus and the others, as without our leader we had no purpose. But it soon became apparent that without Agron, Nasir had no life. Despite pleas from Naevia to rest, he paced the halls of the temple, attempting to make himself useful and perhaps banish frightened thoughts that no doubt turned to his gladiator and the possible fate awaiting him in Capua.

The return of the victorious gladiators heralded a new beginning for us all. They not only brought back the surly Crixus--though I was glad to see him for Naevia's sake, sentimental old goat that I am--but also a badly wounded warrior they called Oenamaus. There was also with them a man named Gannicus, though watching him from my viewpoint in the shadows, he looked more like trouble than salvation to me. I was sorry to hear of the loss of Rhaskos, knowing that Chadara had counted upon him to give her status amongst us. I fear she also had developed a fondness for him, making her loss twofold.

But Nasir saw only his gladiator returned to him unharmed, and their reunion put aside any doubts I had that Agron's regard was one-sided. I had never seen such a smile upon my boy's lips before, this open joy at the return of a beloved, and witnessing it brought tears to tired eyes. In a short span of time the gladiator had won what some had doubted even existed, Nasir's carefully guarded heart, and I could only pray that Agron was worthy of such a precious gift. 

Events followed that tested the deepening of this love, events that rocked us all. Chadara, foolish girl, sought to betray us and paid the price for her choice. Losing her was a blow to Nasir as well as myself despite the circumstances--I'd known Chadara since she was a child, though even then she was wilful and scheming. Agron found kin in the slave boats of Neopolis, and bringing them back to the temple changed the balance of things until Spartacus once again united us to purpose. The men from east of the Rhine were an uncouth but jovial lot, and I knew that their loyalty to Spartacus, once earned, would never be doubted again.

As I had feared, the fighter named Gannicus brought trouble to our sanctuary in the form of a woman, heavy with child, her clothing that of a noble. I knew not who she was, but the reaction of those from Capua told me that her arrival was nothing short of disaster. I did not know why, nor did I care and would have attended her, but Lucius took the task himself. With night falling and no work to keep my hands busy,  
I was free to take my ease in a dim doorway, an extra portion of wine procured for me by Nasir my only company. 

It was from this vantage point that the sound of shuffling feet alerted me that others were about to pass by. I was deep in the shadows, no one could see me, yet I had a perfect view of the hallway that led to where the Roman woman was kept. Mira passed by my hiding place, her head bowed, feet dragging, and I idly wondered what troubled her this night before turning attention back to my wine.

Settling into my little nook, I tasted the wine and let it weave its magic over my old bones as I closed my eyes. There were more comfortable places to rest, but none offered me such privacy, so when I heard the sound of quick feet approaching, I admit I was annoyed that solitary enjoyment was about to be disturbed once more, but my pique turned to pleasure when Nasir came into view.

He was alone. Unusual, as these days, when one of them was not on guard or training in the courtyard, he and Agron were hip to hip. But a closer look told me that he was breathless with laughter as he stopped and turned back to face the way he'd come. There was but a moment's pause and then Agron arrived, just as giddy, the two of them clasping each other and sharing whispers--whispers that quickly turned to kisses.

Yes, I am old and slow, but I am not yet dead. Too old for desires of the body, yet to see these two boys at love-play warmed me as no summer sun ever could. Safe in my shadowed corner, I watched as quick kisses turned slow and deep, urgent hands roaming lovingly over glistening skin. Agron seemed to understand his advantage of size, and when he fell against the wall, pulling Nasir to him, there was no force, only playful intent. 

Nasir's back was now facing me, his legs caught between the strong thighs of the gladiator. As such, I could not see his face, nor could I see the features of Agron, as his face was hidden in the curve of Nasir's neck. One large hand played across Nasir's back, tugging Nasir closer, whilst Agron's other hand slowly slid up the length of Nasir's thigh. The fingers of that hand slipped between Nasir's legs and Nasir shuddered, arching away from Agron for a heartbeat before kisses were once again shared, kisses this time sharpened to an edge of desperate need even I could feel. 

They left me then, me, their silent observer in the dark, no doubt seeking even more privacy. Somehow, in the midst of great turmoil and beneath the crushing threat of war, these two had found each other. My boy's body, now hard and firm and quick, would be joined to the body of the gladiator, and I prayed that the love they shared would protect them through the coming storm.

I am old and slow, and no one sees me. The tunnels are ready as we await the Roman assault we know is fast approaching, even though no signal has lightened the sky above Vesuvius. Somewhere deep in the temple, my boy--for he will always be such, though he has grown to manhood--sleeps in the arms of his beloved, and while the gods owe me no favors, I find myself imploring them now, imploring them for mercy. Not for myself--I doubt I shall live to see true freedom, if such a thing exists--but for Nasir, my beautiful boy, and his gladiator.


End file.
